


Bloodstains and Regret

by RayneSummer



Category: Uncharted
Genre: Uncharted 2, among thieves - Freeform, shambala, their relationship was so complex in u2
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-05
Updated: 2016-04-05
Packaged: 2018-05-31 11:59:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 554
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6469279
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RayneSummer/pseuds/RayneSummer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Chloe couldn't help staring, when Nate wasn't paying attention. She'd thought he was dead. How could she not? And now here they stood, in Shambala, with guardians and soldiers attacking them, and yet she couldn't tear her gaze away from a bloodstain.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bloodstains and Regret

**Author's Note:**

> alternate summary; Chloe tries to sort out her feelings about Nate being shot in front of her, hours and days after it happened - too late, too futile. And she believes she doesn't have the right to ask.

Chloe can't help staring, when Nate - or Elena - aren't paying attention. She would have noticed the bullet hole in his top even if he had gotten the stains out, but of course there was no way to wash clothes out here, and anyway, she had no idea where he'd been in those days.

She'd thought he was dead. How could she not? The bullet had ripped through his side as she'd watched in horror, then even when he ran away, he'd stumbled. And she wasn't thinking straight either - yes, she'd stopped Harry's next shots, but after all, where could Nate run _to_? Then there was an explosion and she could only look out a window in helpless terror as carriages tumbled down the snowy cliffs.

It wasn't for days until she overheard that he was still alive, and apparently back to going after Lazaravic. Then, hours later, he'd turned up in front of her; taken the dagger; worked out the puzzles. She let him and she didn't tell, but Harry saw it in her face anyway and grabbed her, again.

So now here they stood, in the mythical city Shambala, with its guardians attacking them and soldiers all around, and yet Chloe couldn't tear her focus away from a bloodstain.

It was dry and faded, coating Nate's shirt and jeans, covering his left side. And it was on his arms and his sleeves too, dried flakes of blood on his arms and hands where he'd tried to staunch the flow. But _god..._ Chloe could remember the look on his face when he put a hand to his stomach and drew it back red; she had tracked his stumble, almost collapsing as the pain hit and more blood soaked into his clothes.

Here she was again, days later, staring fixated by the spreaded stain it had caused. The blood was dry, yes, but it was everywhere, and Chloe could only stare breathlessly - too late, too futile - at the stains, unable to pin down how she felt from the mess in her head.

How could he survive losing that much blood? And, hell, there was no exit wound - who dug the bullet out, closed up the hole, kept him alive while his body recovered through unconsciousness?

She didn't have the right to ask. It didn't matter any more, anyway. He was alive with a new, deep, scar; she was alive with a few bruises. They will have to move on, pinpoint feelings later. Let them implode in her head, rather than loading them onto him. At least she could protect him from her own thoughts.

Nate turns, finally, from talking to Elena and catches her staring. She immediately flicks her gaze to his face and changes her expression into a mask of mild exasperation. "Well?" She asks, all business, and he relays their route out of here that Elena had suggested. Chloe just nods, and follows after them, eyes downcast and drawn back to the bloodstains. She shook her head to clear it.

It may not have been entirely her fault he - lover? ex-lover? Whatever else, a good friend - nearly bled out alone on a train-wrecked mountainside, but she knew damn well she could have prevented it. But since they're all here now, there's no one to place the blame, because they're all suffering the same.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> This turned out better than I expected, especially since I've written Chloe maybe once before and so am not practised on her thoughts at all. I wrote this while playing the last Shambala chapters of Among Thieves, and couldn't help thinking about what would be in Chloe's head when Nate takes off his coat and she sees the stains of blood spread on his jeans and top.


End file.
